


Close for Comfort

by carolion



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Banter, Gen, Gen Fic, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolion/pseuds/carolion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can't sleep, but decides that Rodney should. Exhaustion induced cuddling happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close for Comfort

John woke at 0300 hours with a snap, eyes wide open and sweat beading at his brow. It was possible he’d had another nightmare - sand and dust, blood and broken machinery, the screams of his comrades still rattling between his ears - but the dream slipped too quickly from his waking mind for him to really pin the blame. He lay quietly in his narrow bed for thirty minutes, watching the play of eerie blue-green lights that always lit Atlantis from the inside out, willing himself to sleep again. It was useless though, so John sat up and swung his feet to the floor, mechanically reaching for his uniform. As long as he was awake, he might as well help patrol the hallways of the city.

As military commander of Atlantis, he had no set route. John drifted from one section of the city to another, saying nothing but nodding his head in acknowledgement at the men on duty he passed. It wasn’t long before he found himself near the labs, drawn by habit to one of his most visited locations. He checked it without thinking, scanning the room automatically.

He blinked, but the apparition of Rodney McKay hunched over a table at four in the morning, his pale, sallow skin lit by the unhealthy glow of a laptop did not disappear. 

“Rodney,” he said, and was startled by how tired he sounded. “What are you doing in here?” 

Rodney nearly fell out of his chair, his whole body flinching at the interruption. His hands flailed wildly as he searched for purpose, grabbing ineffectually at his laptop and clutching it close, as if it were a lifeline. When he regained his equilibrium, he glanced over his shoulder to glare hotly at John, and John could see the dark, purpling shadows under his eyes, how pale his lips seemed to be. 

“These are the science labs, Major,” he sniffed arrogantly. “I’m a scientist. I’m right where I should be.” He narrowed his eyes at John. “What are _you_ doing in here?” 

John rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t really annoyed at Rodney’s vitriol. It was familiar and lacked any real heat, and sometimes he even liked it. He stepped closer to the desk where Rodney had set up shop, close enough so he could lean one bony hip against the edge and stare down at his physicist. He pursed his lip at Rodney’s haggard appearance. 

“You haven’t even gone to bed yet, have you?” he accused - a rhetorical question. They both knew Rodney had been up for thirty hours, at least. “How much coffee have you had?” 

Rodney squirmed and tapped out an irritated rhythm on his desk with two fingers. “The kitchens cut me off at midnight.” He flashed a defiant, angry smile at John, all bared teeth and curled lips. “I’m using pure will power to stay awake now.” 

John leaned forward and frowned, and then shook his head, unaccepting. “As impressed as I am by your sudden mastery of will power McKay, I’m not going to let you make yourself sick this way. Go. To. Bed.” He commanded, pointing sternly in Rodney’s face.

Rodney scoffed, turning away from John, and back to his simulations churning away on the laptop. 

“Don’t make me make you,” John warned.

Rodney flicked his pale blue gaze up to the Major, calculating the severity of the threat and the risk of denying the order again, before belligerently huffing and pretending he hadn’t heard at all. 

John counted to three. Then he hauled Rodney out of his chair by the back of his shirt and started dragging him towards the civilian’s quarters. Rodney thrashed and protested the whole way, but he never broke free of John’s grasp, and became more and more agreeable the closer they got to his room. 

By the time John had waved his hand over the room’s crystal locks and demanded entry, he could feel Rodney’s bone deep weariness as if it were his own. Or perhaps it _was_ his own, exhaustion creeping into the periphery of his awareness, making everything seem a little blurrier. 

“You’re a brute,” Rodney complained, but he was swaying on his feet, and the jab had less ire than it could have. 

“Just lay down on the bed, McKay,” he suggested, too tired for arguments. Surprisingly, Rodney did, climbing in with only a few more grumbles, before yawning and curling into his pillow. 

It looked comfortable, John thought to himself. Then he thought of the long trek to his own quarters, stationed in the military quadrant and sighed.

“Major,” Rodney mumbled. He didn’t even open his eyes, just scooted inelegantly a little bit to the left, leaving a sliver of bed to his right, just enough space for John to spoon up behind him. 

John only hesitated for a minute - long enough to Rodney to let out an exasperated breath - before he lay down beside him, burying his face in the nape of Rodney’s neck and breathing in deeply.

He counted three whole breaths of nothing but warmth and comfort and contentment before he was asleep, cuddled up to Rodney’s back.


End file.
